


More Than a Single Sting

by agatharights



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Abduction, Forcefeeding, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Modified Genitals, Offensive depictions of mental illness, Oral Sex, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Vomit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agatharights/pseuds/agatharights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Lockdown scoops up Wasp for the bounty on him. Wasp is willing to do just about anything to avoid going back to the stockades, and damn if Lockdown isn't interested in a whole lotta crazy packed into one little bot.</p><p>Seriously, though, heed the warnings, and there'll be more tags and warnings (and characters) added as this proceeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trash and this ship is trash and I don't know how I got so invested in it but it's my new favorite crackship for now. I'm so sorry to all of you, except I'm not actually sorry this was super gross and fun to write and I'm going to be writing more of it!

“You’re either the sorriest excuse for a Decepticon spy I’ve ever seen, or there’s something in that bounty that ain’t quite right.” Lockdown growled as he looked down at the little green form, struggling wildly against restraints. The same fuel-efficient design that so many autobots hosted these days, generic electric stingers, nothing interesting and nothing new. “None of my business, of course, so long as I can still get a payout.”

 

The bot was muted, a necessary step after he’d initially woken up and immediately started screaming and babbling, grating on Lockdown’s nerves. He’d been an easy find- skulking around an Earth city, hiding in alleyways and barely fueled. An even easier grab, Lockdown had simply hit him with a stunner and he’d gone down instantly. Once awake, he’d started struggling against the bonds that kept him to Lockdown’s table, and hadn’t paused since, likely running on fumes just fighting.

 

Lockdown glanced over him, before the console chimed, and he looked over the message hastily. He generally didn’t pick up bounties for the Elite Guard- it wasn't that the Autobots didn’t pay, but they were a little too interested in picking him up if he slipped up. He’d been in Earth’s neighborhood, though, and there was an added bonus to picking up Decepticon traitors- namely that the Decepticons were happy to pay to get their own people back, and happy to match or beat the Autobot’s price to do so.

 

[He is not ours.] A short, simple message from the Decepticons, dismissive.

 

“Well.” He chuckled, darkly. “Looks like we’re swinging back by Cybertron after all. Tough break.” The green bot’s struggles suddenly doubled in effort, and even with the silencer on he was spitting static and his ventilators with whining with effort, shaking his frame. “Oh, don’t be so scared. At least the Elite Guard asked for you back alive. Your mods are pretty standard, but you’ve got a cute helm, it’d make a good trophy if you didn’t need it.” Lockdown patted the lighter green crest on top of his helm, noting how big those purple optics got in panic.

 

 _Hszzzzt! Zzzt!_ The bot was buzzing, humming even with vocalizer shut off, sounding frantic and angry.

 

“So, if you’re not a Decepticon spy, I gotta wonder...how’d you wind up in the Stockades? Mess with the wrong person? Learn something you weren’t supposed to know?” He tapped his hook against the bot’s chestplates, feeling the smaller frame overheating. “Of course, maybe you’re just a spy. Not a good one, if you got caught, must’ve been pretty lousy if you got yourself caught and they didn’t even want you back.” He reached for the silencer, a bulky half-collar on the bot’s throat, and hesitated briefly to brace himself before he pulled it off.

 

“WAZZP IZ _NOT_ A SSPY!” Wasp screamed, wailing miserably in a pitched, static-laden vice. “Wazzp is not spy! LET WAZZP GO!”

 

“Oof. You’re hard to listen to, you know that?” Lockdown winced. “The Elite Guard would probably appreciate it if I kept the silencer on you when I handed you in.”

 

Wasp’s struggling started up again. “No! NOO! Do not bring Wazp back! _DO NOT BRING WAZZP BACK_! Wazp won’t go back! Wazp _can’t_ go back to stockades!”

 

“Yeah, heard that before. Unless you can match the Elite Guard’s bounty, I think I’d prefer to get paid. And I doubt you’ve got any shanix tucked away.”

 

“Wazp can’t goooo-” The green bot howled, optics sparking. “Wazp can’t go again! No! Wazp can’t- can’t- CAN’T!”

 

“Wasp needs to shut up now.” Lockdown sighed, scowling as he moved to place the silencer back. “I’m not just gonna turn you lose, when you’re worth something-”

 

“Kill Wazp!” The screamed demand made Lockdown pause. “Pleazze!”

 

“...that bad, huh?” Lockdown sneered. “Yeah, no luck there. Normally I’d be happy to oblige, don’t get me wrong, but they want you back alive.”

 

“No! No, no no no-” Wasp’s voice trailed into frantic static. “Wazzp not go back- Wazzp rather be dead, Wazzp do anything-” The silencer clicked into place around his throat, and he hummed wordlessly again, jerking what little he could manage against the restraints. _Hzzznnn! Zzzzzzhhhn!_

 

“Wasp this, Wasp that, I get it.” The bounty hunter chuckled and gave his helm a condescending pat. “Wasp is just gonna have to sit tight while I get to the dropoff point. Sorry, ‘mech, nothing personal, everything business.” He turned, feeling Wasp’s wide optics following him, flaring in distress, and started back towards the helm of his ship...only to pause when he heard a soft click, and the sound of metal plates sliding back along one another. A familiar sound, to any Cybertronian.

 

He turned back, and was greeted by the sight of Wasp arching his hips up, off the slab, one of the few movements the bonds afforded him, his pelvic armor opened and slid back to expose his valve. It certainly got Lockdown’s attention, as Wasp whined and hummed, writhing. “Well.” The bounty hunter breathed out a quiet sound of surprise and came back to the edge of the table, brow quirked. “You certainly know how to bargain. Learn that in the stockades?”

 

The mere mention of the stockades made the little green bot flinch back, aft falling back to the slab with a dull thud. His valve remained bared, though, and Lockdown reached out and gently rested his hand just over Wasp’s lower abdomen, a warm, heavy weight. The small bot glared, but Lockdown smirked. “Don’t give me that look. I know how the stockades work, spent some time in them myself. Of course, I had a bit of an unfair advantage, but that’s another story.” His hand slid down, cupping Wasp’s pelvic array wholly, and the small bot shuddered.

 

“Hrm.” Lockdown was slow, methodical as he placed his hook over Wasp’s chest and felt him with broad fingers. Wasp was small, but minibots were always flexible, and the way Wasp relaxed and went silent against his hand suggested that he’d learned to go limp, to offer as little resistance as possible. “Tempting, yanno, I like little bots. You’re pretty small, an’ it really is a tempting proposition…” A thick finger slid along the port lips, pressing a fingertip so slightly in- before Lockdown pulled his hand away, studying his servo. “...but chafin’ my spike on a dry valve ain’t gonna pay for mods.” He grunted, distastefully, and Wasp started whimpering again. “No offense, but unless you’re actually ready I got some mods that’ll tear your pretty lil’ valve apart, and I ain’t interested in handing damaged goods over to the Elite Guard. They’ll take it outta my pay.”

 

Wasp started struggling again, but not for long before whining sharply and opening his mouth, showing it around the chin guard that arced up over his lips. Now that was a very clear proposition, a bit of oral lubricant drooling over the bottom of his helm, tongue pushing out to the side of the guard, the silencer not stopping the weak groan he made. Lockdown watched, carefully, eyes flickering brighter at the promise of a wet mouth and the desperation in those big purple optics.

 

“Now that just might do me some good…how do I know you’re not gonna bite, though?” His hand moved to Wasp’s chin, grasping it firmly, his thumb brushing over his tongue. Wasp whimpered, the only response he could manage, before wincing as Lockdown’s fingers probed under his helm, finding the manual release- popping the helmet off. Wasp held still in quietly learned terror. His protoform and circuitry exposed, he was suddenly exceedingly aware of how chill the ship was, and how delicate he could be.

 

He opened his mouth again, though, and as Lockdown slowly slid the tip of that barbed hook in over his lips, he slid his glossa over it, shivering. “Good…” The bounty hunter practically purred. “Promise not to bite?” Wasp closed his lips around the hook and sucked, wetly. Lockdown’s engines suddenly revved in anticipation, and he delicately removed the hook and smirked. “Sorry about the positioning...see, I ain’t gonna release ya until I’m done, and this won’t exactly be comfortable for you.”

 

He hit a hidden latch, a set of controls, and the slab suddenly shifted and flipped back, raising, and Wasp found himself tilted almost upside-down, pedes up in the air. His optics reset, brieftly disoriented, and found he was staring at Lockdown’s crotch. The bounty hunter reached down, stroking the thin armor along his jaw, culminating in the thicker brace of his chin, coaxing his lips open again.

 

Lockdown canted his hips forwards, and Wasp found his tongue pressed to a heated, scalding interface panel, still closed. He laved eagerly, though, he had a lot to prove. He wouldn’t go back. Not to the stockades.

 

Lockdown growled, catching his hook on the edge of the slab as he rocked his hips slowly, reveling in the feeling of a hot, wet glossa against him. It’d been a while, since he’d last had an excuse to ‘face with anybody, and even then his regular appointments with Swindle were less about enjoying oneself and more about getting off as efficiently as possible, before he could rack up whatever extra charges Swindle would insist upon.

 

“There we go...eager, aren’t you?” He sighed with relief, interfacing panel finally transforming away with a click, spike pressurizing right between Wasp’s open lips. For his credit, the green bot only gagged for a moment as his ventilations stuttered, before he forced himself to relax. It was strange, he noted, feeling a series of small spines scraping along his glossa and the roof of his mouth, not even particularly stiff or prominent, just enough to sting. Small wonder he’d stopped before fragging him dry. Even just halfway sheathed in Wasp’s mouth, the slender tip of Lockdown’s spike was already against the opening of his throat, and Wasp offlined his optics from the view between Lockdown’s legs.

 

He eased back until Wasp’s lips were just around the tip of his spike, hearing the smaller bot whine as his spines scraped along the sensitive mesh of his mouth, and slid back to his throat with a low groan and practiced smoothness, starting a relaxed rhythm, not yet trying to move deeper. As it was, Wasp could feel the ridges of his spike, under the spined portion, the spark of node connections and biolights, absently aware of the other modifications he could feel. Plating made to expand, sparks meant to tantalize stimulate- fragging Lockdown would’ve been an ordeal.

 

With a harsh grunt, Lockdown bucked his hips and Wasp choked in earnest as the connector entered his throat, the delicate tubing stinging where it was scraped and pressed, and he swallowed hard in an effort to sooth, the contraction drawing a groan from the bounty hunter. “Good, goo-ood...oh, you’ve got a nice, tight throat...anyone ever tell you that before?” He bucked again, sharp enough that the back of Wasp’s head hit the slab, sharply.

 

Ignoring Wasp’s whimper, he decided he wasn’t quite in the mood to draw this out, and growled, hips moving in a firm, quick rhythm, spurred on by the obscenely wet sounds of oral lubricant being forced from Wasp’s mouth, and the sputtered, choking gags he gave.

 

He didn’t last long, once he’d gotten started, and Lockdown gasped as overload snuck up on him, washing over him with a crackle of charge, sparks skittering across Wasp’s lipplates and inside his mouth. Slamming his hips forwards, he knew Wasp had to be pained from the rough treatment but just couldn’t care, not when he was busy being lost in the sensation of transfluid jetting into Wasp’s throat, half being swallowed and the other half following gravity back out around his length. “Nngh, _therrrrre_ we go-”

 

Wasp shuddered, buzzing weakly, before jerking in panic as he felt plating separate and swell against his lips and dentae, starting to force his mouth open wider before Lockdown twitched his hips back, popping the swelling knot free of Wasp’s mouth before it could expand any further and get trapped. “Oop, sorry there...not interested in breakin’ your jaw. _Yet_.”

 

He pulled back, breathing deep, and Wasp stared, the view only made stranger by his position upside-down, Lockdown’s spike still pressurized and sporting a fat knot at the base of it, the whole length bobbing as he stepped back. It was impressive, long and sleek as the rest of him, bright green for the most part, save for the white, spined tip and the darker knot, red biolights flickering with spent charge. Wasp swallowed with a wince, throat tender and slick with transfluid struggling to be swallowed, trying to ignore the filthy sensation of drool and fluids mixed on his faceplate where it had dribbled from his lips, a few drops coursing down over his optics.

 

Lockdown crouched down to his eye level, red optics narrowed and dim with laziness and satisfaction, reaching with his hook to wipe some of the dribbled mess off Wasp’s lips. “That was pretty nice.” He stood, and Wasp jerked as the curved edge of the hook rubbed against his still-exposed valve, smearing the warmth and wetness against it. “...Not nice enough to buy your way outta this, though.”

 

Wasp thrashed, suddenly, struggled renewing and muffled buzzes and bursts of static resuming, his optics wide and bright. _No!_ He thought. _No! Wasp did what he was told! Wasp should be set free! No!_ He spat and twitched, interfacing panel snapping shut loudly, and Lockdown laughed, richly. The Bounty hunter turned and started to leave, leaving Wasp upside-down, trapped and angry.

 

“I wouldn’t struggle too much if I were you. Your fuel levels were only at 6% when I bought you in, you’re probably getting down a few percentage points by now...I’d hate for you to drop into stasis before I scrounged up some oil to tide you over. It’d save me the trouble of restraining you, though.”

 

Wasp just kept struggling, jerking and jacknifing sharply, as Lockdown turned off the lights, and left for the bridge, the door sliding shut behind him, leaving Wasp alone with his frantic ventilations and humming, overtaxed systems.

  
And an awareness that he was running out of time to get out of this before Lockdown handed him over to the Elite Guard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop, warnings for this chapter are suicidal ideation, attempted starvation, force-feeding and vomit. It's sadly shorter than the last one, but I'll make up for it with more things next chapter :3

Wasp came to with only a vague sense of unease, a foggy memory recall telling him that he’d gone offline from exhaustion and that nothing had changed since then. He was still upside-down, faceplates sticky with dried fluid, still in the dark. A warning pinged him, that he was still hungry- starving, in fact. Only at 2% fuel capacity, even his recharge barely putting a dent in his power consumption. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel panicked at all.

 

Sure, his tank was cramping, and the warning kept flashing through his processor that non-essential systems were starting to shut down for power conservation, and his head itched where his protoform had been exposed to the air since Lockdown removed his helmet...but he was feeling strangely calm.

 

Maybe this would be fine. He could disable his stasis, force himself to starve offline. He wouldn’t get revenge, his escape and planning would be for nothing, but he wouldn’t have to go back.

 

Swallowing to get the bitter tang of lubricant out of his mouth, he rumbled his engine to life and re-started systems that were closed down by instinctive preservation. His power immediately dipped to 1.5%, and he tried not to feel too giddy about the prospect of Lockdown losing the bounty on him by delivering a greyed corpse, even though static, muffled giggles slipped out of him anyways. He offlined his optics, resting back, letting the humming of his vocalizer and the thrum of his systems working lulled him into relaxation, through the pains that shot through his body.

 

He didn’t notice the lights come on, but he jerked, unsteadily, as the slab he was on suddenly pitched forwards and he found himself mostly upright, optics coming online to Lockdown’s disappointed sneer.

 

“Awful way to go, starvation. Your tank cramps, and the fuel lines close off from the pressure. Pretty painful, I hear.” He growled, and Wasp stared...before giggling again. “Yeah, yeah, real funny. But what ain’t funny is that I’m not getting paid for a greyed out mech.” His hook nudged under Wasp’s chin, and Wasp flinched as the metal brushed over sensitive exposed protoform. “Open up.”

 

Wasp shifted, but refused, lipplates firmly sealed.

 

“Aw, don’t be like that, not after you were so eager to open up for me before.” Lockdown sighed, his smile turning predatory. “Well, I could put you on an injection, infuse your lines with energon, but that takes equipment and energon I’m not willing to waste on you. Instead, I’m just gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He moved away, and when he came back into Wasp’s view, he was carrying a length of tubing.

 

 **1%,** Wasp’s readout informed him that shutdown was imminent. His processor would power off shortly before his spark chamber would die, and his spark would flicker with nothing to preserve it’s integrity, he’d seen it before in the stockades sometimes. Bots who stopped eating, who managed to avoid being seen or treated by the medics.

 

“Open up, I said.” Lockdown’s fingers traced along Wasp’s jaw, before moving up to grip where the underlying jawplates connected. If one knew their way around a protoform’s endoskeleton, it wasn’t terribly hard to know where to apply a little pressure...he squeezed his jaw, firmly, and Wasp whined sharply, unable to clench his dentae shut as they were forced apart. “There we go, now-” The barbed tip of Lockdown’s hook scraped over Wasp’s lipplates as it was slid between his lipplates, between his dentae, and no matter how much he tried to jerk his head and bite down he found himself simply chewing on the unyielding metal of the hook.

 

Lockdown bought the end of the tube to Wasp’s mouth, then, and twisted the hook, prying his jaw open, and open until it felt painfully stretched. “Good thing I know you ain’t got much of a gag reflex.” The tube was smoother, thinner than Lockdown’s spike had been, but once it entered his throat he started jerking, optics offlining as if it would spare him some discomfort. Lockdown carefully fed it down his throat, inch by steady inch, listening to the soft, wet sounds of Wasp’s choking, before he stopped. “There we go...seems about the right length there.”

 

Wasp couldn’t move. Maybe it was the lack of energy in his aching body, or maybe it was the sensation of the reinforced tubing threaded down his throat and into the entrance of his fuel tanks, but he simply shuddered and his ventilations stuttered. Lockdown smirked, looking over his captive, as he prepared a small can of oil and a funnel, resting the funnel in the crook of his hook and holding it up after attacking it to the tube. If there was something to be said for being in the neighborhood of organic planets like Earth, it was that biofuels made a decent substitute for Energon when time came down to it.

 

“Down the hatch.” It was the only warning Wasp got, before he tilted the can of oil and down, down the thick black liquid coursed to his captive’s tanks. Wasp whimpered, thinly, his body informing him that his fuel levels were steadily rising, hungry body eagerly taking in the oil and starting to process it immediately, so desperate that it hurt as his systems roared to life. “There we go! Good ‘mech, lucky for you, I got a full meal ready. Lil’ thing like you ain’t gonna need much.”

 

The slow, steady flow of oil into his tanks ensured his energy levels were rising steadily, and his tanks pinged him every time he reached an acceptable percentage. **5% full. 10% full. 25. 50. 80**. It really didn’t take much, small fuel-efficient frame like his, and by the time Lockdown had opened a third can of oil he was wondering if Lockdown was going to continue until overflow.

 

“Almost there…” His tank reached 100% capacity...and the amount crept up to 105%, overflow resevoir quickly starting to fill.

 

 _Gghn! Hhhhnn!_ He tried to hum, the sound garbled.

 

**110%**

Lockdown didn’t stop, delight in his red eyes.

 

**115% - Fuel rejection imminent.**

 

Wasp’s processor reeled. From nearly starving to death, to being overfilled to the point of his tank feeling achingly heavy so rapidly. It made the energy in his lines burn, the crud in his tanks clearing away as an overcharged haze started to creep up on him.

 

 **120% - Reservoir limit reached.** His optics onlined, white-hot as they flared, and he spasmed as his tanks flexed and Lockdown let out a laugh, pulling the tubing from his throat with one fast, smooth movement that made his intake piping feel raw. Following it came a weak purge of oil, not much, just a mouthful that couldn’t quite make it past Wasp’s lips before losing momentum, instead pooling in his mouth and gushing down his chin, onto his chest.

 

Lockdown laughed, and Wasp slumped against the slab, internals buzzing with the sudden influx of energy after so long spent underfueled and barely scraping by.

 

“There we go...you digest your way through that, and I’ve got some friends to pick up on our way back toward Cybertronian space.”

 

He whimpered. His tanks churned.

 

Lockdown pat his head, gently, and left the room, carrying the oil-slicked tubing and funnel with him as if it weren’t anything unusual at all. “I’ll check on you later.”

 

Wasp’s systems output a stunning list of updates from the fuel influx, and he offlined his optics, going limp and trying to ignore the crumbling sensation in his spark. So he couldn’t starve to death, and now that delusion born of hunger had faded in lieu of a properly-fueled processor he felt disturbed over the thickness of the oil on his jaw and chestplates. He would have to wait. There would be an opportunity to escape one way or another, wouldn’t there?

 

There would be. If it was alive or dead, he’d be free. _Wasp would be free._

 

 


End file.
